


Sleepless Nights

by SomeChaosSpinner



Series: Red hat under green eyes: Carmen Sandiego/TMA AU [3]
Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: And also Player ...in this AU, Are you seeing the pattern yet, Carmen needs a break from her job, Cleo needs a break from her job, F/F, Gen, Ivy needs a break from her job, Julia needs a break from her job, No Beta we die like Dexter wolfe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29277261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeChaosSpinner/pseuds/SomeChaosSpinner
Summary: After the archivist goes missing, their assistants search for her. Unfortunately, The Desloation isn't willing to let her go so easily, and when the escape goes wrong, lasting consequences are to follow.This is in the universe of my other AU stuff. Same timeline. I'm going to write another part
Relationships: Julia "Jules" Argent & Ivy, Julia "Jules" Argent/Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep
Series: Red hat under green eyes: Carmen Sandiego/TMA AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199588
Kudos: 10





	1. Sleepless Nights

**Author's Note:**

> She/they Julia  
> They/them Dash  
> This chapter name is also the same as the title because I am unoriginal

Julia began recording. She felt the familiar rush as she took out the file, glancing around the cramped office.

They couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched.

It was understandable, of course. The thing about working under the command of the  _ fear _ or being watched is you were never far away, or never felt far away, from prying eyes.

Trying to shake this feeling, Julia straightened the paper and addressed the tape recorder. Or whatever listened to the recording. She wasn’t sure which statement was more accurate.

“Statement of Andrew Brown, regarding his night terrors while living in a deceased friend’s home. Statement recorded December sixteenth, nineteen sixty one. Recording by Julia Argent, the archivist.”

Damn. Most of the statements Julia had read recently had all been within the past decades- but this, one drawing Julia’s attention as they searched the manilla folders; all neatly tucked away as if whoever had organized them hadn’t known of the hunger they were designed to satisfy, was much older.

“Recording done April 2nd, 2021. Statement begins.”   
She felt a familiar clarity of mind. Her back became straighter. The statements wrapped around her like reinforced carbon on steel. She felt  _ better _ when she read them. Stronger. Less vulnerable to everything that had happened in the past years.

She also felt like the statement was looking right back at her, as if she poured too much of herself into this reading, it would grab her and pull her into the paper. But they could ignore that in favor of the benefits.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.

“Well, by your rules. They state that you're not allowed to report hallucinations, dreams, anything of that sort. But this wasn’t a dream, I promise. This was  _ real. _ I need to tell somebody. Maybe you can figure out what happened.

“That aside, thank you for taking my statement. I would normally write it out, but as you saw when I walked in, my hand doesn’t… quite work anymore. I’ll get to that in due time, but as I assured one of your staff members walking in, there’s nothing my doctor can do to help me.

“This all started with Henry. We had known each other for years, ever since his family had moved into the house down the street after the war. He never talked much about his involvement in it, but I got the impression that the consequences of the draft had left his mother unable to pay the bills. We worked together, delivering goods from the pharmacy to those around town, until I went off to college some time later. We promised to keep in touch, and although we tried, I got distracted. I lost his phone number, he changed his address, you know how it is. For the longest time he was a  _ memory _ of nights out, a  _ memory _ of jokes at each other’s expenses. But that was all he was. He didn’t have much family, save for his mother and older sister, and we weren’t in contact.

“Then, four years later, he was dead.

“Cognitive heart disease, they said. That defective lump sat, invisible and unknown, in his chest for almost thirty years, until one day it just stopped delivering blood to his body. Painless. Quick.”   
Julia took a deep breath. That feeling was stronger, now. Part of them wanted to put down the statement and ask for Ivy, or someone else, to come in so she could at least place the unpleasant, stale fear. But the other part of them knew that once a statement started, The Eye wouldn’t let them just…  _ stop _ .

“I have no idea how Henry’s mother found my address. Likely through the delivery service; after college I did odd jobs here and there. The place I had formerly worked at had multiple locations, one nearby the house I resided in during those years.

“She called me one night, and explained the situation: that Henry was dead, and she needed someone to help clear out his stuff. She stated, for some reason, that she couldn’t  _ trust _ a mover. Then I simply attributed it to the paranoia of a grieving woman, but looking back, I wonder if there was something else at play. If something vile was going on just under the surface.

“Not seeing anything wrong with it then, however, and feeling as though I owed it to Henry’s mother, who at many times during my friendship with Henry had almost felt like my own parent, I packed my things and made the journey out of state, figuring I would be back soon.

“When I arrived, the house was empty. I found a note on a table, explaining that Henry’s mother was out of town. I was advised to sort the stuff into categories, to dispose of junk, and to begin to pack everything into boxes for either the landfill or the second-hand shop. I was a bit disgruntled. No one told me I would be spending the weekend in the old house alone, but the payment was also in the letter and I decided to get to work.

“Henry’s room was where it had always been. It looked like it hadn't been touched for years. That may have been the case, considering how little I knew about what he had been up to in nearly half a decade. I began to take books off shelves, only momentarily flipping through each one. I devised an organization system of furniture, clothes, junk, books, because that was what was in my old friend’s room. 

“There was one strange thing. I didn’t think much of it at the time. It was just an piece of notebook paper, torn out and taped to the door. 

“It read:  _ The Game has Begun _ . 

“I simply threw it out. Henry had always been into movies and books, far more than I was, and I figured it was a reference to something. All the same in the trash.

“By the end of the day I had cleared out Henry’s bookshelf and desk with no trouble. The note had said I could help myself to anything I might need, and because I really didn’t want to rent a hotel, I decided to spend the night in the guest room.

“That was where it started.

“I spent a little while trying to get comfortable. Not for any real reason, my mind was just wandering. Eventually I felt my eyes get heavy, and drifted off into dreamless sleep.

“I was woken up by the sound of a  _ bang _ , as if a cooking pot had fallen onto the floor in the kitchen _. _ From the way the shadows cast around the dark room, I could guess it was around three in the morning. 

“Then I heard it.

“Humming. A low, leisurely baritone, making its way  _ under me. _ ”   
Julia felt herself shiver. She could almost imagine herself in the position of this poor man, trapped in a house with an intruder, a monster under the bed. She swallowed and kept reading.

“I immediately jolted up, heart racing, battling the urge to freeze, because what I needed to do was  _ escape. _ I needed to run! I swung my legs over the bed and hesitated, because if the stranger truly was under the bed, maybe they were waiting… to stab my ankle? It didn’t make sense, none of this made sense, but that hesitation was just long enough for something to shoot out from under the bed and wrap my ankle in a viselike grip.

I tried to scream, but my mouth wouldn’t open. My throat felt tight and dry. The hand, even in the dark, I could see, was green. It’s hard to explain. I couldn’t make out flesh or scales or feathers, just the dark, foreboding shape of a green hand.

“It didn’t pull or tighten, just stayed there. And I began to realize that where it touched made the skin go numb, almost like stinging nettle. 

“Then I watched stone begin to crawl up the flesh on my leg.

“I woke up with a shout, then looked around the room, cast in the rays from the beginning of a sunrise. There was no stranger. My leg was fine. I was sitting in a rather awkward position, half slung off the bed, and I think the threat of falling was what woke me.  _ Just a bad dream _ , I tried to tell myself. I tried to ignore the steady throbbing in my ankle, as if it was bruised, even thought inspecting it revealed no injuries,

“I couldn't fall back asleep after that. Didn't want to, so I got up and got to work.  _ Just a bad dream. Just a bad dream. _ I repeated this over and over in my head, like a mantra, as I continued to clean out the room. By the time the day was done, I was so bone tired from that cycle of thoughts that I crawled back into the bed without a second thought.

“ _ Bang. _ And then the humming, again. It appeared to be the same time as last night.

“This time, I didn’t try to get out of bed. I just laid there, straining for any noise beyond the humming. I couldn’t tell if the thing was moving. The humming was the only thing I could hear. I could  _ almost _ recognize the song, but its name escaped my memory.

I think it’s important to mention at this point that I sleep on my side, facing the wall. There’s no reason, I just started doing it a long time ago and never stopped. I was never married, and I think that night time loneliness, combined with a mild fear of the dark, means that not looking out into a dark and empty room as I wait to drift off instills a sense of security.

“So I was lying there, facing the wall, wondering if my heart was beating too hard and if it, too, would soon stop like Henry’s, when two hands grabbed my left and attempted to pull me, so that I would be facing the room.

“I woke up on my back.

“Now I was a bit nervous. I’d had recurring nightmares before, but this was different. There was something…  _ sinister _ about them. And my hip  _ hurt, _ as if I had fallen in such a way that the left slide of my body had taken all the impact. There were no cuts or scrapes or bruises, just a throbbing sensation that I couldn’t trace.

“I didn’t leave that morning. I lived far enough out of the state that I couldn’t just go home on a whim, and I felt bad taking some lady’s money for an incomplete job. ‘That kind of work ethic might just be the death of’ me, some of my friends would joke in my delivery boy days.

“When I got to work that day., I found a music box under the bed. Old little thing, with a crank handle and its patterns long faded on the peeling paint. 

“I wound it up out of curiosity and it was _ playing that tune _ . Exactly the same as it had been the night before. Low, leisurely, and inexplicably  _ sinister. _

“I scribbled a note with my landline spinning up some excuse about a cough and allergies on account of why I couldn’t finish, left the money where I found it, and got in the car. My only thought was of escape, now, because whatever was going on I wanted  _ no part _ in it. Call me a coward, but I was  _ done. _

“It was just after four PM when I left, and when it got dark, I decided to pull over into some parking lot that wasn’t getting much use and try to get some sleep.

“It was stupid, looking back, that I thought that I had escaped whatever was happening. I should have kept driving, all through the night if I had to. But I’m not a night driver, and I thought I was out of danger.

“I woke up with something gripping my shirt. I couldn’t see what it was. The darkness was crushing, and even if I had time for my eyes to adjust I don’t think they ever would have. I couldn’t see an inch in front of me, but I could feel a foul presence, and the numbness, sinking into my chest. I could almost  _ feel _ my heartbeat slow. My breaths came faster, desperate, but my lungs seemed incapable of taking in all the air, as if they were only operating at half capacity.

“When the creature spoke, its voice… its voice wasn’t human. Not anymore.

“But I could have  _ sworn _ it was Henry.

“‘ _ That’s not how the game is played. _ ’

“In a panic I reached out into the darkness, intending to defend myself. My hand struck hard, unyielding flesh. I could feel the creature’s grip weaken, as I could feel my hand twist, numb, distort.

“My eyes flew open. I was back in the car, bathing in the early morning light. For a horrifying movement I couldn’t breathe. Then my lungs seemed to open, and I took in a gulp of air, almost sobbing with relief. I cried silently in the parking lot, relieved that I was  _ alive _ .

“After around a half an hour, when my breathing was regulated, I reached out to the wheel. My hand was… all wrong. My left hand, my dominant hand, was fine, but my right hand, the one I had struck the beast in my dream with, seemed to be… inverted. You’ve seen it. I can’t move it, without the bones seeming to grind together and sharp pain penetrating the spaces between.

“So I drove home, one handed, only using my right for tasks that didn’t require bending my fingers. Then I called my doctor, although I didn’t tell him exactly what happened. He was just as confused as I was. X-rays didn’t show anything  _ wrong. _ Nothing was broken, the bones were just… moved. There was nothing to be done, short of removing the hand. I told him I’d think about it.

“I told a friend about it, and he told me about your institute. Told me it might help, to get it off my chest. She had made a statement before. About overly aggressive cattle, I think? Anyway, she said it helped a lot.

“So, that’s my story. I haven't heard from Henry’s mom since, although it has only been three days. I haven’t been back to work, either. Or school. I’ve just been… recovering, I suppose.

“...is that it?”   
Julia put down the paper, feeling satisfied. Recording old statements wasn’t as filling as collecting them, but it still made her feel stronger. They turned and addressed the paper.

“Statement ends.”

Julia picked up the research file, scanning the paper before continuing.

“Right, the follow up. Henry Smith, the friend mentioned here, was, indeed, declared clinically dead one week before the statement was made. Mr. Smith’s mother declined to make a statement, although a bit of research revealed that she did, in fact, live at the address provided by Mister Brown. Two months after this statement was made, she died of natural causes while returning from church on a Sunday morning. Andrew Brown...” she flipped the page. “In nineteen sixty two, Andrew Brown died of what was  _ considered  _ to be smallpox by doctors, however they couldn’t explain why the few rashes on Mister Brown’s body seemed to lose color under the light.” she flipped the page. “The statement mentioned here was located. It was recorded two years before this, by someone named Sydney Brunt. However, the researchers assigned to this case did not find the subject matter of the statement relevant to this one.”

Julia sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I’d be inclined to call this The Dark’s doing, although the mention of bones makes me think of The Flesh. Maybe the two working together?

“Carmen still isn’t talking to me. Chief was right, she’s not exactly sociable, but… it just makes me wonder. Maybe I forgot something that happened in the Lonely? I’ll talk to Ivy about finding the tapes from that day, maybe I’ll listen over it.

“Recording ends.”

Julia turned off the recorder and looked around, sighing at the mess. She tried to remain organized, but staying at the archives meant that its own disorganization began to leak into their own space. 

But they didn’t want to leave. They were paranoid after nearly losing her identity in the Lonely, and she worried, probably irrationally, that it would happen again if she began to make the trip again regularly, alone.

There was a quick knock at the door. Julia lifted her head even as she heard the near silent  _ click _ of the recorder. She hated that she wasn’t sure if she had turned it on. 

“Yes?” Julia called, standing up and opening the door. 

Standing behind it was a person, taller than she was. They were dressed nicely, in a dark blue suit, regarding Julia with disinterest as she took them in. there was something about the way they were standing, too straight, too calm.

“I-I’m sorry,” Julia said, suddenly feeling cold dread. They suddenly wanted nothing more than for them to leave. “This area of the institute is off limit to visitors.”

“Julia Argent?” their voice was flat, clipped around the edges.

Julia stood there, frozen, for a moment. She wished she could just Know what they wanted, but The Eye offered nothing.

“How do you know my name?”

“You’re listed as the head archivist,” The person answered automatically, then looked annoyed at the fact that they had said anything at all.

_ Listed where? _ “...I’m going to have to ask you to leave. If you want to make a state-”

“Please come with me.” The stranger’s voice was even, and Julia realized they weren’t taking no for an answer.

Julia hesitated, then tried to close the door. 

The stranger’s eyes flicked toward this movement. Their hand shot out, closing around her arm with surprising force. Julia let out a cry as their flesh became hotter, and suddenly it was like her arm was being pressed against an iron. The scent of burning flesh hit her nose at the same time the stranger’s hand opened, releasing her. 

Julia stared at the bright red mark over her blistering flesh. She looked up at the stranger again, and knew it wasn’t permission to run.

It was a threat.

“Please follow me.”


	2. The Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement regarding the being known as Countess’ rise to an avatar of the desolation. Statement recorded October 5th, 2021.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh so I accidentally fucked up my own timeline and realized that a few weeks back?? Maybe check the updated times on the previous statements if you're here from one of those  
> Also this one has an angsty cliffhander ending because nothing can be fine in my AUs, ever so just watch for that

Statement regarding the being known as Countess’ rise to an avatar of the desolation. Statement recorded October 5th, 2021.

[Recording begins]

(Grunt)   
  
(Soft pleading, far away)   
  
(Muffled sob)

(Grunts become louder)

Dash: No, I’m not taking off the gag. I’ve been briefed on your abilities, archivist.

(grunting in response)   
  
Dash(curious): Do you have asthma? How ironic if that was how you went, considering your current circumstances. 

(Grunting becomes more muffled)

Dash: I wasn’t  _ told _ about you having asthma. Oh dear. This complicates things.

(Pause)

Dash (to themself): …The countess told me not to let you speak. But she also said to make sure this was performed correctly. And if you die from asphyxiation before the ritual even  _ starts _ , we’d have to find a new third sacrifice. And she was quite insistent that the third sacrifice  _ had _ to be the archivist. It would be a statement, she said. Not the kind you take, of course. Oh dear. You are inconveniencing me  _ greatly _ , archivist.

(Grunting continues)

Dash: …well, you can’t ask me much anyway… 

(Gasp)

Julia (gasping): Who are you?

Dash: Dash hab- oh  _ fuck.  _ You did it again.

Julia: You’re the… desolation? An avatar?   
  


(Pause)

(Sounds continue in the background)   
  
(Clicking of heels)   
  
Countess: I’ll take it from here, Dash.

Dash: Countess! I’m sorry, the archivist, they were-

Countess, icily: You can  _ go. _ I can do the last preparations by myself.

Dash: Y-yes, Countess.

(A beat)

Julia: What’s going o-

Countess: Ah-ah-ah. I will not tolerate your  _ questions _ . I will tell you what I  _ think _ you need to know. is that clear?

(Silence)

Countess: Very good. (Pause) Is that… 

Julia: I- I didn’t notice-

Countess: Hm. Well, for whoever’s listening, and for the sake of your  _ dear _ archivist, I will describe the scene. 

I am standing above your archivist-

Julia: My name is Julia.

Countess: Fine. I am standing above  _ Julia _ . We are in a dark room, lit only by sparse candles. The candles are there only for the sake of the sacrifices; there are three of them, and  _ will _ go out before the ritual starts. None of you can see each other, but you  _ hear _ the fear of those around you. The delicious  _ despair. _

The patterns of wood in the room’s floor are designed so that when the ritual starts, the fire will burn slowly across the floor. It will spread up the wooden poles each sacrifice is tied to, burning each one slowly. The ritual will only be complete once the last cries stop. 

Does the Eye hear these? I hope so. It only makes this more  _ powerful _ . The Eye cannot hide behind the servants it drew in, then infused with its dark power.

Especially not after this is  _ complete. _

Sit tight, archivist. You will be sitting in the dark for a long time.

Julia: Please… 

(Sounds of the tape recorder being picked up)

Julia: Why are you doing this?

Countess: I-

(Pause)   
  
(Sounds of tape recorder being put back down)   
  
Countess: Well played, archivist. I suppose I’ll entertain your patron. Not that this will help you in the long run.

Julia (surprised): Statement of- statement of… what’s your name?   
  
Countess: Don’t test your  _ luck _ . 

Julia: S-statement of Countess, regarding… 

Countess: My reasons for joining the desolation. 

Julia: Statement recorded direct from subject. Date…? 

Countess: At most, three days until your expiration.

Julia: I… statement begins.

Countess: Let’s keep this quick. 

I was a model once. A very good model. From a young age, my mother encouraged proper posture. And to only speak when you had something  _ worth _ saying. Both of these qualities meant that it was only natural that I would find my place on a runway.

The only problem was, I did.

At first, it seemed like a dream job. I was eighteen, fresh out of high school, when I was first approached by a modeling agency. Scanning over the contract, it seemed like a good deal. Nice pay, the restrictions were high, but not as high as one might expect from a modeling agency. I was running off the remains of a squandered fortune my mother had spent my childhood  _ wasting _ on frivolous things, so I was pleased to find work at all. You know how it is, if you were  _ desperate _ enough to become a researcher for the Magnus Institute.

The problems started immediately.

For one, it was competitive. I hadn’t noticed in the contract, but the place valued some sort of competitive pay  _ bullshit _ that meant if you didn’t rate high at shows, you didn’t  _ eat. _ It wasn’t a problem at first, believe it or not. I  _ always _ ranked high. But it meant pressure to perform and the tension between the other models was  _ always _ felt. 

For another, our employers were  _ rude. _ Self absorbed CEOs who were practically  _ swimming _ in so much money that they really had nothing else to do but exploit their models in order to make more.

And, of course, there were normal modeling agency problems. We had to look good. Stay a certain weight. “Sleep tight, ladies, we’re leaving at six tomorrow to the next job.” it was weighing down on me, and I started to lose sleep. 

It’s such a  _ normal  _ thing, really. If our plane had taken off an hour later, I probably wouldn’t be here right now. But our plane took off bright and early, as planned, and I was running on two hours of sleep as the show started. 

High heels are difficult to walk in if all your effort is being spent trying not to fall asleep.

I broke my ankle. 

I was out for a month, and during that time, I was informed that four weeks was  _ above _ my agreed amount of sick leave and I would be docked pay. That I was lucky to not be completely laid off.

I was just…  _ so angry.  _ I had to haul my ass back faster than I should have to keep my savings from running out. I was still on crutches when I hopped on the bus. My director took one look at me, barely able to  _ stand _ , and terminated my contract, effective immediately.

I didn’t know what to do. All of my money had been spent. I was stranded in Spain, and I didn’t speak a  _ word _ of Spanish back then. I couldn’t even  _ walk. _

I was packing my things, with no destination in mind, when one of the other models approached me. Elanor, I think her name was. She was… not a great model. When our ratings were reviewed and discussed, she was always at the bottom of the tier. She was very quiet, and missed so many shows that sometimes I wondered how she still had the job at all. 

I thought she was there to gloat and told her in no uncertain terms to fuck off. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked me, ignoring what I said.

I paused. I wasn’t entirely sure if this was some sort of mind game, an attempt to trick me into signing another contract. Carefully, I replied, “Sad. Angry.”   
“Angry at whom?” she asked. The same tone as before. She wasn’t smiling, but… her voice. There was something to it.

I hesitated. “Frank.”

She smiled. “Do you know how you are going to get home?”

I said no. Elanor's grin got wider, and she told me to follow her. That she had something to show me, something that might help “change my fortune”.

I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and there was just something about the way Elanor said it. I couldn’t say that she seemed trustworthy, but there was something enticing behind her words. So I agreed. 

She took me to someone’s house. Large and old, similar to my mother’s. I limped in behind her. She introduced me to someone who said her name was Agnis. 

The woman looked me up and down, and I could  _ feel _ her disdain for me. 

I suddenly felt quite subconscious, leaning on the back of a chair for support in a house I’d never been to with two women I barely knew, if at all.

Agnis asked me if I knew who she was. I said no. 

She asked why I had come.

I said Elanor told me she could help.

She asked me with what.

It was like a dam had cracked. She looked… sympathetic. I told her everything; how much I hated the fashion industry and wished I’d never joined it, how  _ insufferable _ everybody had been, how  _ furious _ I was at losing my job for things that were out of my control. I told her I had hit rock bottom and didn’t know if I could keep going, that I was running on spite. 

Agnis smiled. It was a nice, albeit strange smile; maybe a bit too earnest. She held out her hand and told me to shake on it.

(Sigh)

You know the desolation’s power, little archivist. I wore gloves for the next week.

Despite that, I latched onto the desolation quickly. There were other people who had been drawn to the power of Agnis, and I met them soon after. We became a peculiar little family. It was so… different, after the stifling upbringing on my mother, and I had so much pent up rage and frustration. I didn’t have to experience much of a shift in perspective to do what was expected of me. 

The rest is history, just as you will soon be.

Julia: Statement ends.

Countess: Now, let’s get on with it, shall we? 

Julia: Don- mmph!

Countess: Apologies, archivist, but I  _ really  _ can’t be answering your silly questions any longer. See… your smoking corpse, in a few days.

(grunts, sobs, and pleading becomes louder)

(A shriek from far away)

(Sounds of impact and a struggle)

(A bang)

(Silence)

Carmen: Are you okay?

Julia (breathing heavily): I-I think so-

Carmen: Good. we need to go. 

Julia:  _ Go? _ Where are we? How did you even  _ find  _ me?

Carmen: Well, I’m quite good at finding things that don’t want to- or others don’t want them to- be found. Come on.

Julia: …

Julia: We can’t leave them.

Carmen: They can’t do the ritual without you. 

Julia: The Desolation will kill them anyway.

Carmen (voice hardening): They’ll kill  _ us _ , too, if we don’t leave before the Countess wakes up or her assistant comes back. I’ll leave with you, or I’ll leave without you. 

Julia (sighing):  _ Fine. _ How do we get out of here?

Carmen: You’re not claustrophobic, I hope.

[Recording ends]

[Recording begins again]

(footsteps)

Carmen (voice echoing slightly): I think just a few more kilometers. I arranged for Ivy and Zack to be waiting for us.

Julia: Why did you come back?

Carmen: I told you-

Julia: You told me  _ how _ you came. But you didn’t tell me  _ why. _

Carmen (hesitating): Ivy’s been frantic. She thought you went home, but then she found the… the burn marks on your door. She thought I could find you… so I did.

Julia: How long have I been gone?

Carmen: Almost forty eight hours.

Julia: …oh.

Carmen: Watch out, it’s slippery here. 

(footsteps slow)

(A few minutes of silence)

Julia: …why have you been avoiding me?   
  
Carmen (caught off guard): …what do you mean?

Julia: well… you weren’t exactly the talkative type  _ before _ , but ever since The Lonely… did something happen in there? Did I say something? Because I-

Carmen (voice tight): Jules, we’re not doing this now.

Julia: I’d rather talk about it now, Carmen. Like it or not, we work together. So if there’s something-

Carmen (harshly): Stop. you don’t need to know why. I have my reasons, and you  _ don’t _ need to know them.

(Pause. One pair of footsteps stop, followed shortly by another)

Julia: Do you think I’m not  _ ready _ ?

Carmen: I-

Julia (frusturated): For fuck’s sake _ ,  _ Carmen! I just almost died. I think I can take whatever you have to tell me! 

Carmen: …do you really want the answer?

Julia: You avoid me for  _ months,  _ for seemingly no reason. And then you just show up out of the blue! Yeah, I want answers. 

(Hesitation)

Carmen (flat): What do you think’s going to happen?

Julia: What?

Carmen (voice rising): Because whatever’s happening between us, it  _ can’t _ . Do you think- you think- we can be  _ friends _ ? that we  _ are _ ?

Julia: Maybe-

Carmen: You want to know why it can’t happen? Why I’ve been avoiding you? 

Julia: Was it because of-

Carmen: I WAS SENT HERE TO KILL YOU.

(A long, heavy stretch of silence. The words  _ kill you _ echo through the tunnel, as it slowly sinks into both people what Carmen just said.)

Carmen:  _ Nom de dieu.  _ (As if attempting to defuse what she just said) Julia… (voice trails off, replaced by other footsteps)

Julia (nervous): I guess your secret sewer exit wasn’t as secret as you though it was?

Carmen: Go. I'll be right behind you.

Julia: I don’t know my way out of here!

Carmen: Keep going straight. At the turn, take a left. Next turn, another left. When you get out of the sewer, keep going for about fifty paces until you see a willow tree. Zack and Ivy should recognize you.

Julia: You can’t- they’ll… 

Carmen (snarling): Go!

(footsteps begin, quick and frequent)

(Far-off shouting)

(Panting)

(Indistinct yelling)

(Far-off sounds of combat)

(A distant gunshot)

(A gasp)

(Far off screams)

(Far off barking and growling)

[Recording ends]

[Recording continues]

(Heavy breathing)

  
(footsteps, as if over dry leaves)

Zack (from far away): Julia! Are you okay?

Julia (distractedly): I’m fine.

Ivy (coming closer): You made it! But… where’s Carmen?

(Pause)

(A heavy sigh)   
  
Ivy: Oh. Oh my  _ god. _

[Recording ends]


End file.
